


The Sadder But Wiser Girl

by Ellemae



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - Willson
Genre: F/F, musical retold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellemae/pseuds/Ellemae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan claims to be a world-renowned band director, but she's never led a band in her life. Instead, she's a successful conman, taking advantage of small town mentalities. </p><p>Regina Mills is considered an evil bitch. The town's librarian, she can't stand the small town mentality of her neighbors. Still, she refuses to leave Storybrooke. It's the only home her son has ever known. </p><p>A Swan Queen retelling of Meredith Wilson's beloved musical "The Music Man".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sadder But Wiser Girl

The commuter train is rundown. It’s the type of space that makes you want to grab a bottle of hand sanitizer and a jar of Lysol wipes to protect yourself from the years and years of dirt and grime. The red faux leather seats are birthing white stuffing, and Emma shifts uncomfortably, trying to avoid the spring that’s currently implanting itself in her butt cheek.

“I hear she hit another town.” The man with a bluetooth in his ear is lounging back in his seat, his crisp knockoff suit and bag stuffed with folders making it clear that he sells cellphones.

“No way!” A younger tech guy exclaims, lacing up one of his sneakers that has someone come untied despite the fact that they’ve been sitting on a train for the last hour.

“Yeah,” the man scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“What’re you talking about?” A skinny girl flicks her braid over her shoulder, golden eye shadow sparkling on her lids. And Emma watches her out of the corner of her eye, instantly knowing that she’s a make-up sales rep.

The incredibly attractive blonde next to her, who seems to be half-listening to the conversation and she scrolls through her cell with well-manicured nails, is so pristine she couldn’t be anything but a pharmaceutical sales rep.

Basically, it’s a whole train full of sales reps. Just Emma’s luck.

She scrunches down a little more in her seat, making herself smaller so that she’s less noticeable. It’s a trait learned in foster care, though it never made a difference then, and probably won’t now.

At least they’re not looking at her.

“So?” The pharmaceutical rep drawls, indicating vague interest in the conversation.

The cell phone guy preens. “The band-it struck again?”

“The bandit?” She raises one perfectly maintained eyebrow.

“This woman, she hits up small towns. Persuades them that she’s some world renowned band director and that if only their town had a band they wouldn’t be in such dire straits.”

“So?” The blonde asks again.

“Yeah…” the younger girl pipes up. “Isn’t music supposed to be good for kids?”

His sneaker finally tied, the young guy scratches his small pot-belly through his Death Cab for Cutie t-shirt. “Nah. She doesn’t know shit about music. It’s all a scam.”

“She’s basically a con artist,” cell phone explains. “Sells the poor towns on their need for a music program, promises to set it all up, takes their hard-earned money for instruments and uniforms, and then bails.”

“That’s horrible!” Gold eyeshadow exclaims.

The train pulls to a stop.

“STORYBROOKE, MAINE!” yells the conductor.

And Emma stands up quickly, grabbing her trumpet case from the rack.

“That’s not exactly how it works,” she announces, moments before she steps off the train.

“Was that?”

“I think so!”

The doors slide shut.

“Although it’s pretty damn close,” Emma whispers to herself as the train pulls away from the station.

~

Emma Swan rolls into town on a rainy Tuesday. Moments after arriving and glancing around the sleepy town she nods decisively. Storybrooke, Maine is exactly what she needs.

She spends a couple hours hanging out in the town’s only bar. The Rabbit Hole is shabby and rundown, but it doesn’t matter what it looks like. If Emma has learned one thing, it’s that bars are the place to go to get the low-down on a place.

And this bar doesn’t disappoint. A morbidly obese man sways on a stool, beer clutched in his hand, and gesticulates wildly as he speaks. The guy who’s sitting next to him, who has to be his brother cause they look just alike, nods emphatically.

They’re talking about some evil bitch, and Emma wrinkles her nose as she leans in closer. She always tries to learn as much gossip as she can. It’s easier when there are no surprises.

Speaking of surprises—she’s not shocked at all when midnight rolls around and the girls come out. She calls them girls, not women, because she doubts one of them is a day over eighteen. They’re svelte and air-tanned, and the kind of skinny that only comes from too much booze and almost no food. It’s clearly the moment the drunk men have been waiting for, as they shift to attention on their stools, bills crinkling in their hands.

Emma has to admit that the girls aren’t bad looking. She lets her eyes skim the strippers’ bodies, and promises herself it’s just research. She’s not getting involved, no way. She makes sure to glance away from them before they notice.

A coquettish brunette starts a striptease, swaying and rolling her hips, and Emma swallows hard and stares down at her beer.

The men jeer and cheer and Emma grins.

“StoryBROOKE, StoryBROOKE,” the men chant as the girls shimmy toward them, sliding their hands over their breasts and down their thighs.

Sleepy towns like Storybrooke, Maine are always the perfect target. Small town values with a small town strip club. It’s exactly what she needs.

She drinks one more beer than she should, and stumbles slightly as she makes her way down the street toward the motel she scoped out earlier.

She leaves the men inside, drunk off their asses but showing no sign of stopping.

She doubts there’s anything else to do in town. It’s clear they’re mainly miners, but mining isn’t doing as well as it once was (if it ever did that well to begin with).

Emma passes several storefronts that are empty, newspaper covering their windows to hide the fact that there’s nothing inside. After the pounding music of the bar, it’s shocking to be amongst so much silence.

Nothing else appears open, though she can see a couple of places that will be come morning. Paint is peeling, and windows are cracked.

It’s the sort of town that offers little, but that people still find hard to leave. Most of them have never known anywhere else, many of them may have never even left the town line.

Emma knows the type. Stuck in their ways, stuck by finances, stuck by a promise that things will be better in the future, or by the belief that it’s this bad anywhere.

The whole town is depressed.

Just the way Emma likes.

When she finally stumbles into the Red Motel, it’s only midnight but it feels like it’s timeless. Like she’s stuck in a fairytale where everyone else is fast asleep.

In all likelihood, the only other women in town who isn’t asleep is behind the counter of the motel.

The receptionist is tall and leggy and her breasts are proudly displayed, pushed-up and straining against the white polo shirt of her uniform. She looks like she could easily fit in with the strippers, and Emma idly wonders if sometimes she’s one of them.

“Hi,” the receptionist says breathily, grinning widely.

“Hey,” Emma clears her throat. “Got a room?”

“For you? Anything.”

Emma chuckles. “Thanks. I’m Emma Swan by the way,” she offers her hand, “I’m new to town.”

The receptionist grins, “Ruby. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” and Emma yawns.

Ruby giggles. “Sounds like you’re tired. Here’s your keycard.”

Emma smiles sheepishly. “Thanks.”

As she turns to leave Ruby calls after her. “Hey! What’re you doing in town?”

“I’m the new band director.” And Emma continues walking down the hallway toward the elevators.

“Cool.”

Emma has stepped onto the elevator when she hears Ruby shout after her.

“Wait! We don’t have a band!”

Emma just smiles as the door slides shut. “You do now.”

Leaving with the last word is kind of her specialty.

 


End file.
